


My Bloody Magister

by ofgoodmen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe - Vampire, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood Bond, Blood Magic, Character Study, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), Lust at First Sight, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Dorian, POV Dorian Pavus, POV Third Person, Soulmates, Trauma Bonding, Writing Exercise, blood mage dorian, episodic, he's not bad he's just drawn that way, love at first sight but you're possessed by a desire demon, maleficar dorian, short reads, uh written that way?, writing drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofgoodmen/pseuds/ofgoodmen
Summary: Drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian, sort of a vampire au. Aiming to be chronological + writing as warm ups between projects so anything could happen. Update schedule is whatever, doesn't have a set end. Follows the Inquisition plot. Some things are better understood if you're reading Blighted Empire but you can probably assume what you need to.Warnings:Conversion therapy comes up in this story. Although the point is it's bad and I'm writing through an LGBT perspective. I can see it being triggering. Please take care of yourself.Unsure how violent or sexual this will get. I've turned warnings off and will warn in summaries.References since I barely describe appearances:https://ofgoodmen.tumblr.com/post/636624515805347840/im-coming-like-a-flood-im-living-off-your-bloodhttps://ofgoodmen.tumblr.com/post/637330220739870721/when-youre-just-a-handsome-renegade-blood-mage
Relationships: Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 12
Kudos: 22





	1. Priceless Rewards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian, a renegade Blood Mage, is on a contract mission for the Venatori. Predictably, something distracts him.

It was a beautiful day in the south and Dorian was terribly bored.

Alright, so maybe _'beautiful'_ was a stretch- but there was no rain, which by Ferelden standards counted for beauteous. Still the sky was dreary- even here in the Hinterlands, the so called _'Heart of the South'._ Constant damp livened the vegetation- everything was _so_ green- and _so_ in his way! He couldn't walk two steps without having to wrestle nettles or vines from his robes.

_Why did I agree to this again?_

They needed someone not overtly suspicious, he supposed- at least, not suspicious in a particular manner. Dorian could be suspected of many things; by his appearance alone he could be accused of blood magic and perhaps some dubious forms of necromancy. Why else adorn himself in human bones, how else to explain the flash of amber that sometimes possessed his eyes?

Altogether, Dorian ascertained he had to be wearing a whole person- and that excluded his staff, shaped from a spine and skull.

Not all the _same_ person, mind you. Still not a welcoming sight to most.

Granted none were innocent in his eyes- all had threatened his survival in one way or other.

Besides- as long as no one suspected him of working with the Venatori, it didn't matter how he was judged. His employers knew that- and Dorian knew he needed gold and influence to maintain the lifestyle craved by his inner demon.

So there he was, traipsing through the south with a sack full of magical equipment, questing to study Rifts for a group of mad cultists.

_I don't know why they're bothering..._

_What did exploding an old woman and her Chantry puppets really achieve?_

From his viewpoint, it merely added complication- now there was this _'Herald of Andraste'_ for the fools to contend with.

_Why can't people just appreciate life for what it is?_

He considered to himself with a laugh, kicking aside more vines.

Then again- if the world lacked such madmen, who would risk contracting Dorian for anything? An open practitioner of blood magic, long-disgraced from his house? Of course whenever someone sought him out, their motivations were not exactly chivalrous.

While pondering this he approached a Rift and began work. Recognising him as one of their own, the demons barely glanced.

Speaking of which- he was really in need of proper sustenance. Food and wine can fulfil Desire for only so long- especially while sleeping out in the cold wild and not luxurious sheets.

Technically his employers were to blame- anyone with sense was hiding and anyone who might be some fun was miserable. Not that he faulted the local populace for cowering from demons, Templars, mages, holes in reality and Maker knows what else.

_Well. Us, for one. We're here too._

It was gradually creating an issue. Desire's primary source of nourishment came from the desire of others. For Dorian, this meant fuelling himself through a man's desire towards _him_. When times were well and the populace cheerful, no matter his place he could easily find a willing participant.

However when times were tougher or in this case, when fear of magic and the unknown ran rampant, meeting someone receptive was trying.

_Actually...when you think about it-_

_this whole thing is Halward's fault._

A phrase Dorian said to himself often, spitting his father's name like a curse.

Just as often, he would sense the demon admonish what it viewed as weakness.

_Well am I wrong?_

_We wouldn't have met if it weren't for him._

Waiting for devices to conclude their measurements, he plopped onto the grass and reminisced.

Dorian had been just a boy, as belligerent a youth as could be. Or that's how his father would excuse it, he was sure.

Perhaps Halward even liked that about his son- sometimes. When he put it to use, when his belligerence somehow went hand-in-hand with achievement.

Not when it caused him to loudly reject their plans, state he'd rather die than live in denial of himself, then run off into the night.

_If he hadn't found me...everything might be different._

Unfortunately Halward ferreted him out somehow. What happened next was a tangle of memory and emotion- what he did recall, was standing in a circle of fire while a voice hissed through his mind.

_**Small. Such a small morsel.** _

_**What does the human think I can do with this?** _

A sensation like needles puncturing his skull. He'd cried out but couldn't move. The creature burrowed into his consciousness, processed and digested in seconds.

_**Oh...?** _

_**So much desire.** _

_**Ambition.** _

_**Potential.** _

His heart drummed, limbs shaken- but still he was incapable of movement. All he saw was flame and all he heard was this ravenous intruder.

_**A small meal...but still a meal.** _

_**I could take it all.** _

_**That's what he wants me to do, you know.** _

Whether through his own discernment or whatever link was strung between them, he understood what the creature meant. Panic increasing, Dorian's thoughts raced, floundering to convey them-

 _So he told you_ 'oh go eat this desire for me' _, and you're just going to do it?!_

_Aren't you a Desire Demon?!_

_Don't you want to experience life?!_

_Instead you're just going to- going to-_

_have a little snack and slink back into the Fade?!_

_When we can both maximise our potential- together?!_

The voice fell silent, pensive. Dorian stammered to solidify his point.

_Just- just don't change who I am- that's all I ask._

It had fulfilled that promise- for the most part. When Dorian awoke he'd been in his bed, unchanged in every way that mattered to him.

Turning around, a pair of void-black eyes peered back and he'd screamed.

That was the first encounter with his shadow. It was structured vaguely as he was, had his voice, developed as he did. Yet was just a walking silhouette- that only he could see.

Thankfully his demon's wanderings were on an inconsistent basis.

However it didn't take long for Halward- and everyone else, really- to note Dorian changed in every way they _hadn't_ instructed.

Always a morbid child, fixated on necromancy and the dead. His bond with the demon increased this fixation tenfold. Before then, Dorian sometimes preserved deceased animals and toyed with the idea of reviving them with Fade-Wisps. Now it was an unseemly habit- which his family loathed. Cheerful, bumbling creatures of bone and treated flesh roamed the estate, causing minor chaos and disrupting social events.

Eventually his father screamed at him-

“ _Dorian Pavus! Clear this undead menagerie or I will take care of them myself!”_

“ _I WILL NOT!”_ He'd shrieked back, tossing mice-bones across his bedroom.

Halward did take care of them himself- to the boy's heartbreak and despair. By that point he knew there was discussion of somehow altering him again- he ran and this time, was free.

_**Feeling nostalgic?** _

Desire lured him to the present moment- sitting cross-legged on a nearby rock-pile, seeming amused in it's posture. His shadow- not nearly as intimidating as it had been to him years ago. Dorian smiled, sighing wistfully.

“Something like that...I think it's more that I'm under-stimulated.”

His companion mirrored this need with a drawn-out exhale.

“Yes, yes, I know...but when we're done with _this,_ we'll be paid, and then we can head somewhere people aren't _so actively_ terrified for their lives.”

It hummed lowly at this but issued no official complaint. Overall the creature was content in deferring to his judgement- Dorian had never steered them wrong. They were usually well fed, occupied by an exciting project and comfortable- this whole apocalypse business was an unplanned circumstance. Even Dorian hadn't known the Venatori's goals- merely sought to benefit.

The creature's focus appeared to divert- features unobscured enough to gather simple expression.

“Hrm? Someone there?” He wondered aloud, glancing.  
  
Activity further along- a loose group of people trudging through under-brush, chatting casually though he couldn't hear. Dorian lingered at first but soon recognised the Inquisition symbol- a single, glaring eye.

“Not the people we should try explaining ourselves to, I think.” He decided, chuckling in exasperation. Dorian scooped up his instruments and willed his form to move; vanishing with a flash of embers, he materialised behind some trees and knelt. One advantage to his demonic condition was an ability to veil himself- as long as he didn't do anything too attention-grabbing. Standing around in the open was therefore not viable, so he watched and waited.

Two humans, a dwarf and an elf. A human woman and the elf appeared to lead the pack, both bearing the Inquisition crest. The group ventured for the Rift and Dorian frowned, wondering for their sanity.

A dazzling beam shot outwards, leading his gaze to the elf's hand- connecting him and the Rift. Next there was an explosion and the party launched into combat, too confusing and swift for Dorian to properly assess. By the end all demons and disruptions were extinguished and the elf stood to one side, surveying the area.

Dorian couldn't make out terribly much- obvious details; the radiance emitted by his hand and the weapon used in lieu of a staff, a sword-hilt with light where there would be steel. Dark hair, pale, Dalish- judging by the blue patterns decorating his face. Much taller than elves inclined towards being- he loomed over his party and seemed awkwardly aware of it, stooping whenever one moved to speak with him.

Each person drifted to scout the clearings edge and Dorian sat perfectly still. None wandered his direction and the elf appeared disinterested, loitering where the Rift had been dispelled.

Until he abruptly turned and marched almost straight for Dorian. Stopping just as suddenly, he peered down at scorched earth left by the maleficar's retreat.

_Maker's breath!_

_Don't tell me he's going to notice me because of_ that?!

He was near enough for Dorian to study closer- light scarring on serious features, frosty eyes that pierced everything they saw.

Intense- but attractive. Perhaps more-so because of that intensity.

For a few heartbeats he was certain he'd been spotted- but the elf swivelled away, muttering.

“Something wrong?” The woman asked, her voice distinctly Nevarran.

“Burnt ground. I thought it odd.” He answered, falling in pace with his fellows.

“Why odd? It would be from a demon, no?”

“I saw none there when we fought.” His speech was a little stilted- possibly more accustomed to his native tongue.

“From the Rift, then. It hardly matters.”

Their discussion was swallowed by forest and Dorian sprang forth, unleashing his shock.

“ _That's_ the Herald?!” He exclaimed, laughing in charmed bewilderment.

Feeling eyes upon him, Dorian faced his shadow- standing within the tree-cluster, watching it's host ponderously.

Without speech or much communication at all, he knew they thought as one.

Dorian tossed the bag of instruments to the ground and booted it aside, half-snarling, half-laughing.

“ _To the void with **this** dirty work!”_ Meeting his companion's gaze, he smirked. “I just thought of a reward the Venatori can't _possibly_ hand over to us!”

Vague contours of the creature's mouth parted, displaying pointed teeth in a grin.

_**The Herald of Andraste.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian: [Sees Lavellan] [This song starts playing in his head]:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APjVO-COYog&ab_channel=WithRazan


	2. Spring Thaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian keeps an eye on the Herald- and introduces himself.

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.

No- he was definitely getting ahead of himself.

At the very least, Dorian shouldn't have discarded the Venatori's equipment so impulsively. It was possible- even likely- the Herald would be immune to his charms. If no attraction existed between them to start with, then he'd forsaken his current, sole employment for nothing.

Introducing himself was also a complex matter. His subject of fixation was more often than not swarmed by Chantry puppets- Inquisition puppets, whatever.

Either way, they'd be wary of something like him.

_Which would be perfectly sensible, if we're being honest..._

For days he stalked them through the Hinterlands, camping out of sight- preferably at high vantage points. On this occasion he'd discovered a homely cave dug into a cliff, with an ideal view of the Inquisition camp. They'd organised around a half-crumbled tower, wrangling full command of the King's Road at this end.

It took time to accomplish- Dorian had spectated most of the work. The Templar-Mage conflict was their main concern- by now almost completely eliminated. Still there was plenty of trouble to be had, Dorian knew.

 _Are they even_ aware _of the Venatori yet?_

Indeed for now they mostly focused on the resident lyrium-smugglers. To be fair, they were a nuisance- and had not enough sense to leave the Inquisition unmolested.

In his shadowing he concluded a few things, at least.

For one, the Herald was a mage with an affinity for ice. Admittedly Dorian felt stupid for not realising on their first encounter. That sword of light channelled the man's will, swaying him towards close combat. Odd for a mage- so Dorian didn't berate himself much for failing to notice.

Secondly, the man was Spirit-bound. To what sort of spirit and for what purpose, Dorian couldn't guess. He'd only concluded this due to a chance look at his weapon- a summoning circle was inscribed into the hilt. An insanely reckless thing to attempt- unless your will and the spirit's could work in perfect unison.

_We have something in common, at least!_

Though Dorian was positive none regarded _him_ as an Abomination.

Lastly, the Herald was unaccustomed to such close work with humans. Dorian rarely overheard conversation but frequently witnessed him seeming lost, needing elaboration on what appeared self-evident.

Overall he was somewhat peculiar, even for an elf.

“You know...” Dorian mused while building a small fire for the night. “I'm already feeling chipper. It's probably a trick of the mind, since there's potential for a meal...but wouldn't it be funny if my desire was feeding into itself?”

An unamused grumble responded and he frowned at his shadow- slumped morosely against the cave entrance, like a wrung out towel.

“Yes, yes, I know that's not how it works.” Dorian rebuffed, scowling. “I'm just saying I don't mind all this creeping around! Or I don't mind it yet...give it a while, I suppose...”

_**The Herald of Andraste...** _

… _ **probably also does not speak to himself.**_

“Well I'm not speaking to myself, am I?!” He countered, huffing. “I'm speaking to _you!_ \- And you're being _especially_ bratty today!”

Desire slouched down the cliff-wall until it was almost flat.

Dorian spluttered with laughter.

“You're like a cat, you know!? An ominous, perverted cat.”

The creature bubbled sadly, giving no answer.

Rolling his eyes, Dorian would have returned to working on the fire- except Desire's head emerged from it's puddle, leering down the slope.

“Hrm...?” He followed it's gaze, squinting. “Something happening down there...?”

A tall figure wandering from camp, accompanied by a much shorter one- the Herald and his dwarf ally.

“Where are they wandering off to on their own...?” He frowned at his shadow. “Should they really be doing that?”

Desire shrugged, shoulders casting ripples along it's spooled form.

“For some reason...” Dorian swiped his staff from nearby. “I don't like it. Let's make sure nothing bothers them, yes?”

Maker _forbid_ the elf get himself killed- it would be a waste of his whole week!

The pair strode upon the King's Road, moonlight leading their path and their path leading Dorian- always close behind but not too close. Eventually they paused at a road-marker, muttered between themselves and appeared to wait.

_Are they missing one of their people, or something..?_

Regardless of the situation, whatever was meant to occur, didn't. Exchanging anxious stares, the duo walked further along, ignorant to Dorian's presence as he slunk from shadow to shadow.

Within minutes all heard the same thuggish shouting- accented in Ferelden, somewhere amidst an outcrop of limestone. Sprinting forward, the Herald and his companion hunched behind cover, in frantic discussion.

Wanting a full perspective, Dorian climbed ledges as stealthily as possible. Once he had an ideal view, he sat and assessed.

Lyrium-smugglers again, of course. Carta, perhaps? No one Dorian had ties with, whoever they were. More than a dozen- with enough heavies in their ranks to pose serious threat to a miniscule party.

A party of two, for example, would likely be obliterated.

Dorian could see why there was discourse between the Herald and his friend. An Inquisition scout knelt among the group, bleeding and mid-interrogation.

_So they did lose someone..._

Now the Herald wished to attempt rescue and his companion reasonably disagreed. Even out of earshot, Dorian could tell who was winning- through pure stubbornness alone.

Glancing behind, he spotted that looming, bratty shadow of his.

“I hope you're ready to actually _work_ for your meal.”

Not a second passed after his speech before all erupted into chaos. The Herald careened through the group, carried along paves of ice. Flailing and visibly irritated, the dwarf scrambled onto a high-point, where he could launch arrows from some elaborate crossbow.

Skidding from his perch, Dorian leapt into the fray.

Blood had already touched ground- that didn't bode well for anything near him. The grinning skull of his staff raised high, he willed every drop of lost life into himself. It swirled around him in crimson ribbons- he hadn't even channelled a form before people screamed.

“ _MALEFICAR!”_

Earning a wild, blood-crazed laugh from him as he barrelled forth, slicing enemies with their own pain- weaponised. Anyone struck deep enough and lacking proper resistance became crazed, attacking all in their proximity.

It had been a while since he'd stretched his abilities for combat- quite invigorating, really! Not to mention all the blood- a fair snack, though not his usual preference. Licking some from his fingers, Dorian launched into another attack and found himself brushing passed blizzard.

Swivelling to face it, he bore his teeth in a personable manner.

Winter-touched eyes regarded him quizzically, then vanished into battle.

Moments later and it was done- together with the scout, their enemy was reduced to a pile of corpses.

Inhaling, Dorian glimpsed the dwarf and recruit in breathless conversation. Elsewhere stood the Herald- sheathing his weapon, sighing with relief.

_**Talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk.** _

_Maker, stop it! Yes, I see._

This was the closest opportunity he was chance to get.

Awkwardly, uncharacteristically- Dorian hesitated.

_**TALK-TALK-TALK-T** _

_I SAID STOP THAT! I'M GOING!_

Mustering composure, he sauntered that direction, beaming.

“Greetings, friend!”

The Herald blinked from wiping stained hands, eyes widening a second later.

“...Who are you?” He mumbled, automatically hunching to Dorian's level- as he'd witnessed many times.

**“** _ **Me?”**_ He laughed airily- had to restrain more when the elf flinched. “ _My_ name is Dorian Pavus...and _you_ would be the Herald of Andraste, no?”

Much hesitation from this so-called Herald- the poor man's eyes darted as if seeking attendance, white complexion reddening. Effortless traits for human eyes to see- and then there were aspects only Dorian would see. A quickened pulse, hitched breath, heightened temperature...

 _Well, that answers_ that _question..._

_But...I really didn't intend to give the poor fool a heart-attack._

He hadn't even exercised his will in any fashion- just introduced himself! The Herald's clan must have been terribly isolationist, if that's all it took to fluster him.

“That...is what they say...” He managed after a long pause, brow furrowing. “...Have you been following me, Dorian Pavus?”

_Oh, I **like** that._

_So **formal.**_

“Only for your own protection, my darling Herald!” He chuckled warmly, gestured to their fallen opponents. “As you can so _clearly_ see.”

Another drawn out silence, pale features struggling to stay that way and failing- pink had spread to his neck.

“You are from Tevinter.” He observed clumsily.

Dorian's head tilted.

“Nothing gets passed you, does it?”

The Herald didn't seem to know how to respond, grasping air dumbly and again searching around for aid. Deciding to provide such aid, Dorian inquired;

“Since I gave you my name- may I have yours?”

Though fidgeting, he offered;

“Lavellan.”

“That would be a _last_ name, no?”

“I do not tend to give my first.”

“You don't _'tend to'_...” He smiled, shamelessly familiar. “So you might make an exception?”

Something about this caught the elf off guard- absolutely flushed. He merely stared as though Dorian proposed he strip to his undergarments.

“Uhh...hey, there.” The dwarf ambled to them before Lavellan could recover.

“Ah, hello!” Determined to make a good impression, Dorian stuck out his hand. “Dorian Pavus! Pleased to make your acquaintance!”

The Dwarf relented to a light shake, inspecting him doubtfully.

“Varric Tethras- pleased to make yours..” He knit his brow, glanced between the two men. “...I guess.”

All the while Lavellan was statuesque, face crimson and attention flying everywhere.

“...You okay, Lord Heraldness?”

“I...am fine- I am fine.” He practically squeaked. “I think...Cassandra will wish us back at camp...right now...im...immediately.”

Incapable of restraining himself, Dorian roared with mirth and hoped it didn't sound unkind.

“We'll talk soon, my dear Herald.” He bid farewell with more obvious warmth. Lavellan swiftly fled- half-marching, half-scurrying, Varric at his heels.

  
-–  
  


Dirt and blood raced beneath his feet. Evallan Lavellan fought to correct the hue of his face.

“... _Are_ you okay?” Varric- barely audible above the sound of his heartbeat.

“ _I am fine!”_ He snapped, shrill. “I just...was not prepared for...for _that.”_

Varric's expression scrunched inwards, perplexed.

“Prepared for _what?”_

Speech died on Evallan's tongue, frowning helplessly at his companion. He barely had the words in his own language, how could he explain with the vocabulary they both shared?

All the human mages he'd encountered- they were so reserved, tame.

He couldn't imagine _any_ human to carry themselves so _shamelessly_ \- draped in blood and bone, cackling and grinning through danger. Formidable yet exercising flawless control- so at ease in his nature.

And _Mythal have mercy_ \- Those eyes- deadly flares of red and gold.

_Absolutely wild._

_He must be mad._

“...Oh, Maker's breath, Herald...” Evallan became aware he'd been glaring into space. “Don't worry- I won't tell anyone you took one look at the weirdo-'Vint-blood-mage and turned into a tomato.”

He flushed every shade of red imaginable, snapping-

“ _I said I was not prepared!”_

“ _I_ wasn't prepared either!” Varric chortled. “And I do _not_ look like you do right now!”

Groaning, Evallan sped his pace, wishing for nothing more than to hide in his tent and scream until humiliation subsided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually can't remember if the Ferelden King's Road goes through the Hinterlands but I'm pretty sure it does based on the amount of map-examination I did for Blighted Empire, which I refuse to do :) ever again. :) :)
> 
> I hope this reads alright because like I've said, these are basically warm ups. This was my warm-up for today before moving onto my daily count on Big fic.


	3. Deathly Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian offers Lavellan a gift. A very seasonal chapter. There's gift-giving, snow, almost ice-skating, necromancy, homoeroticism. Very festive.

Another restless night spent in a grimy hovel- an _especially_ restless one this time. Dorian was at least thankful his cave was uncharacteristically dry for Ferelden. It would have made the hours of tossing around in his bedding even more insufferable.

He couldn't sleep- painfully alert. Every subtle sound from the wilderness scratched at his insides and the darkness felt not dark enough- agitated by the mildest light.

Whenever he did lose consciousness- or something close- he caught glimpses of the Inquisition camp, as if projected upon his eyelids. He surveyed from above but also lurked its fringes- much closer than he'd dare approach.

The culprit was obvious.

Daylight slivered into his den and Dorian strode outside, unsurprised by what he witnessed.

His shadow was slumped along a rock, boneless-seeming, staring at the Inquisition camp.

“You've been here all night.” Dorian admonished, flopping to tend the fire. “It kept me awake, you know! And what are you doing lurking around camp? He has his _own_ Spirit, remember?! It might see you!”

It grunted passively, not looking at him.

He rolled his eyes, sparked kindling.

“You need to learn some patience, is what you need to do.” Leaning back from the flames, Dorian rooted around in his bag. He didn't have anything to _really_ appease his demon but there was salted meat. Not a fantastic breakfast- he was probably still better fed than the refugees.

This time his shadow didn't offer so much as a grunt, intent on watching

Dorian sighed and craned his neck around- below, Lavellan also prepared for the day.

“There's a way we have to do this, you realise that?” He lectured, cutting meat into chunks. “That's the _Southern Chantry_ down there, or have you forgotten?”

Huffing, Dorian chewed raw flesh and inspected his companion- never moving from it's spot.

“...If it was up to you,” He considered, shaking his head. “We'd just skulk into his camp one night, sneak into his tent and...”

Trailing off, he furrowed his brow at the creature.

“ _Stop_ that. _Stop_ putting thoughts in my head. We're _not_ doing _that._ ”

His shadow seethed as if in agony, somehow becoming more limp.

“You're so stupid.” He grumbled, standing. “You _saw_ how he reacted to us. He'll say yes in the moment then be terrified later- as they _all_ are! Because _you_ , my friend...”

He leaned sideways upon the same rock as his demon, frowning at Lavellan and gnashing bloody meat.

“...come on _far_ too strong.”

It exhaled in dramatic anguish, one with it's perch.

Dorian rolled his eyes again.

"If I didn't know any better...I'd almost say you're lovesick."

The demon had no comment but it's offense was palpable through their bond. Dorian snickered, continuing to mull over;

“What we need...is to provide something- a gift, something useful! That's how everyone _else_ slinks into his good graces, no?”

It harrumphed, unconvinced. Dorian ignored this, retrieving his staff.

“Well we're not doing things your way! _You_ forget we're also betraying the Venatori. They're not going to be happy about that, are they? We're going to _need_ a place in the Inquisition to survive- which we won't get if you can't pace yourself!”

Muttering to himself, Dorian sauntered down the slope, knowing his demon would have no choice but to follow.

“You're going to have to get used to looking in my mind, too. I can't be talking to myself so bloody much! The Venatori don't care, they just think I'm mad. The Inquisition however, might have something to say about-”

Interrupted by an abrupt crash of bristling fur- a wild wolf. Dorian was tackled and with a snarl, kicked the beast over his head. Positively annoyed, he spun around and crushed its skull with the one upon his staff, spitting-

“Wolves! Bloody wolves everywhere- I can't even finish a blasted sentence!” He licked red from his weapon without thought. “...Don't the Dalish have some superstitions about wolves? Sort of a whole...guardians of the Beyond, sentinels of death- that sort of thing?”

He blinked towards his shadow- observing neutrally. It shrugged.

“You know- the Dread Wolf and all that! Fenharel, or whatever!”

It's head tilted, clueless.

“This is why I make the decisions around here, you know...” Dorian scoffed, peering down at the fallen creature. “In fact...I think I have an idea.”

  
\--  
  


Crisp, morning air welcomed Evallan when he opened his eyes. His room in Haven was warm- intolerably so, for someone acclimatised to sleeping in the cold outdoors. Therefore a window near his bed was always ajar, mountain chill guiding him awake before anyone else.

They'd returned to restock supplies, rest and exchange personnel. Already he craved wilderness- while they traipsed over hills and through caves, it was easy to distract himself.

Suffocating in luxurious sheets, Evallan was acutely aware of how far from home he lay.

He wondered if his brothers were rising for the day- or if they'd become slothful without him to direct. After all, he was the _'Eldest'_ Lavellan- a title that meant nothing here but that appointed him some vague authority among his people.

Perhaps Villyen- being younger and less focused- would whine to Amrallan for them to sleep in. They might finally climb from their aravel bunks for lunch, then perhaps Amrallan would suggest they adventure somewhere, rather than attend chores...

By this description it was easy to forget Amrallan was actually older than him- Evallan had always been more responsible. He thought of how his brother might handle this _'Herald'_ predicament, laughing at the idea.

_I will write them again- soon._

For now, he needed to stave off homesickness.

It was too early for serving hands- breakfast wouldn't be prepared yet. That was fine by Evallan- he could only be himself in solitude, and food would do nothing to satiate his cravings.

He craved the freedom of home. Of travelling with his clan, camping in lands too untamed for the shem. Answering to the Creators, and to the wilderness, and nothing else.

This need brought him to the frozen lake, staring wistfully from its edge.

An uncanny sense bothered him- of being observed. This wasn't an unfamiliar feeling- it occurred erratically throughout their time in the Hinterlands. Easily attributed to the Maleficar they'd encountered, he'd become accustomed to dismissing it.

Though he saw no sign of him now- and they were quite a ways from the Hinterlands. Evallan couldn't imagine a purpose in stalking him so far.

_A trick of the mind this time, I think..._

He had to confess, a part of him wished otherwise. Evallan found little point of relation between himself and the humans. Therefore, couldn't help but admire a shem mage who lived so wilfully as an outcast. Perhaps he would find common ground with such a man?

On the other hand, Evallan had no guess as to his thoughts. He _should_ be more suspicious. Yet it was difficult not to be sympathetic towards someone who constantly skirted shadows, clearly not wishing to be seen.

Additionally, he tended to discern threats through his Spirit-bond. Lightbringer had voiced no concerns towards the shem's intent, so it was likely not malicious. Evallan trusted her to caution him if that happened to change.

_I see no real sign of him now, in any case..._

Indeed the grounds were entirely unpopulated, sky still more dark than light. Glancing around himself to make certain, he then gazed over the ice and considered...

Before hopping from the brittle harbour, skidding upon a smooth surface. He'd been provided heavy, polished boots suitable for a Herald- _definitely_ not meant for this. Evallan wondered if someone would scold him, then reflected how ludicrous it would be if he arrived for breakfast half-drowned.

Deciding to risk these consequences, he slid, kicking feet to gain momentum then straightening, propelled onwards with a giddy laugh. Cool winds lashed at him and he grinned at the wintery invitation, remembering such escapades with his brothers.

Spinning around, he repeated the motion, running until he could simply careen forwards. This time he intended to leap and catch himself- but it had been some time since he'd partaken in something so juvenile. Instead of landing on his feet he met frost on elbows and knees, snorting at his own foolishness. He was lucky the ice held- merely creaking.

Evallan stood and dusted himself off, preparing for another attempt...

Hasty scratches echoed along the ice, gaining his attention. Half-turning, he was assaulted by a pair of large paws and what looked like- veilfire?

His instinct would have been to attack- except the creature wasn't _really_ attacking him. It bounced off and ran a mad circle, panting.

Or at least- it made a sound akin to panting.

Closer examination told him this thing- a wolf- was headless, its neck stitched shut. In place of a skull was a puff of veilfire and it was this that 'panted', billowing with the same cadence as an excited dogs breath.

From what he knew of canine behaviour- which was quite a bit, he _was_ Ferelden- it displayed no aggression. If anything, it was pleased to see him.

“...Hello, strange friend.” He greeted respectfully, bending to its level. “And where is your master? I do not suppose something as elaborate as you are, comes to be through happy accident.”

The minions 'head' formed a comically large tongue, lolling stupidly.

Evallan rang with mirth.

“Yes, you are very charming.” He flattered, petting its shoulders. “But that is not what I asked.”

“ _Oh, good- he found you!”_

A somewhat familiar voice- mostly by the accent. There were not exactly a wealth of Tevinter men among the Inquisition.

Turning, he spied the Maleficar- Dorian Pavus- stood where snow met ice, beaming unreservedly.

Evallan hesitated, voice lost.

Perusing the frozen lake, Dorian inched forward, testing each step. Once confident enough he pushed towards Evallan, in such a way to suggest he'd observed some of the elf's frolicking. There was no time to be embarrassed- the man lost his balance and Evallan instinctively reached out, offering support.

The shem slumped into him with an _'oof'_ , slinging an arm around. Evallan stiffened but allowed it- Dorian was warm, and had a scent like earth and blood. Neither of which he found displeasing.

He grinned upwards, exposing several pairs of sharp teeth;

“My _**dear**_ Herald,” Said with exaggerated familiarity. “You left the Hinterlands without saying goodbye- I was absolutely beside myself.”

Evallan blinked at this, not comprehending, awkwardly blushing. He had observed humans to have an odd sense of humour, so attempted to respond in kind.

“I was...to leave a note on a tree?” He chuckled, tense. “You do not exactly make yourself known.”

“I do apologise,” Dorian sighed, balancing enough to cling less. “It's not because of _you_ , my Herald- just the company you keep.”

“They would be suspicious of you, that is true.” He tentatively released the man, seeing him secure on his feet. “But as long as you mean no harm, I would allow none on you.”

The Maleficar roared with laughter, leaving Evallan confused.

“How awfully noble of you, Herald!”

Slumping to meet his gaze, Evallan still couldn't understand what had amused him.

“I would assume this is your minion?” He inquired, looking towards the undead wolf- it had been watching in dutiful silence but was quick to roll onto its back, panting again. Chuckling, Evallan crouched to deliver belly-rubs.

“Do you like it?” Dorian asked, something hopeful in his tone.

Glancing his way, Evallan flashed a smile.

“Some of the humans would call it unseemly,” He shrugged, continued patting. “But I can tell he is a sweet creature.”

“He's yours- if you want him.”

Evallan perked a brow, curious.

“Another method of tracking me, I assume?”

Surprising him- Dorian grinned shamelessly, answering the same way-

“But of course, my darling Herald, whatever else for?” A laugh rumbled in his chest- it was a pleasing sound. “And to protect you, of course! A loyal companion, who will follow only your order, and be compelled to protect you against any threat.”

Evallan smirked mostly to himself, unfurling but not to his full height- stooping around Dorian's. The creature sat by his heels, leaning into him.

“Does he have a name?”

“Fenharel.”

Compelled to splutter in laughter- unable to restrain it- Evallan shook his head.

“ _Maker, no!_ I will not curse the poor beast in such a way.”

Dorian paused, smiling in slow disbelief.

“So you're going to take him? Did you entirely understand what I just said?”

“I understood.” He shuffled, somewhat defensive. “But you have saved my people and myself at least once. Therefore, I seem to benefit.”

“How... _ **pragmatic**_.” Dorian bore his teeth in another sly grin and Evallan felt incredibly awkward.

Appearing to sense this, the Blood Mage redirected their conversation;

“So what will you call him, if not Fenharel?”

Evallan regarded the beast for a moment, lowered to stroke its back.

“Lunis, I think.”

“Lunis...” Dorian stroked his beard thoughtfully. “That's some...minor Elven god? Something to do with the moon?”

“Mhm.”

“Huh...” He tilted his head, feigned a scoff. “Hardly more imposing than 'Fenharel', is it?”

“If I call him Fenharel-” Evallan choked through mirth. “Any Dalish we encounter will shoot the poor thing on sight!”

“Well, maybe- but they'll regret it!” Dorian quipped, earning more laughter.

“Other than to track me...” He questioned- once restraining himself. “Is there a reason you are offering such a generous gift?”

“Why not?” Dorian shrugged. “From where I'm standing, the Inquisition is the winning horse. _I'm_ just trying to ensure I'm not trampled in the race.”

“Pragmatic.” He echoed the previous sentiment- then faltered on what to say.

Again catching to his social ineptitude, Dorian bantered;

“I can't help but notice that sliding around a frozen lake isn't very Herald-like.”

Perhaps he hadn't expected this to fluster him so intensely. Colour burnt his cheeks and a nervous cough erupted from him. Dorian simply observed, smiling in bemusement while Evallan struggled for composure.

“I, well...” He spewed helplessly for a moment. “I...miss my home, that is all. We tended towards such climates, and would entertain ourselves in foolish ways...”

Dorian nodded, attentive.

“I have to confess to you, my Herald...it was quite entertaining.” He chortled, teasing and warm. “But I do think I understand.”

“Yes, of course-” Evallan tried to speak over his unease. “You also find yourself far from home.”

He nodded again but seemed averse to that topic- eyes shifting from Evallan's for the first time.

“Well, everything always works out...” He said vaguely. “But I should be heading off, I think- I see your fellows beginning to stir...”

It was unfortunate he couldn't invite the Blood Mage to stay, Evallan thought. He might be able to guarantee the man's safety but judging by his skittishness, Dorian wouldn't trust that enough to be comfortable.

“I do hope you enjoy the gift,” He said in a chipper tone. “Who knows...perhaps you'll give me something in return someday.”

Dragged from his pondering, Evallan lofted a brow, not really thinking of his response;

“Gifts are not typically given with an expectation.”

“Aren't they?” Dorian mused, chortling as if to himself. “Well...some of them are in a way, no? Dowries, for example.”

“I...” He struggled to process what had been said. “...Pardon?”

Which inspired a chuckle from the Tevinter, shaking his head.

“Just thinking out loud, my darling Herald.” He bowed lowly, with a mock-level of respect. “I must be off- you will take care of our Lunis, I trust.”

“I will- of course.” He stumbled verbally, not comprehending the exchange.

Dorian just smiled and sauntered back into the shadows, leaving Evallan's heart in his throat.

  
\--  
  


“I do not know if you should be accepting such... _'gifts'_ from...renegade Blood Mages.” The Seeker admonished, watching as Lunis sped around the Chantry hall- chasing a moth.

“I sense no ill intent from the man.” Evallan assured, fighting to keep a straight face. “And it is a fine creature.”

“Does it have a name?” Solas asked from behind his tea-cup, observing warily.

“The Blood Mage addressed him as _'Fenharel'_.”

Solas instantly began choking, spittle flying everywhere. Unable to maintain his facade any longer, Evallan burst into laughter.

“I know, I know! Do not worry, I told him I would not curse him with such a name. I have called him Lunis.”

“Yes, far...that is a far more appropriate name, Herald.” The other elf muttered, dabbing tea from his face.

“I truly cannot fathom...” Cassandra grumbled, leering. “...How you survived the wilderness as a mage child.”

Evallan snorted, genuinely tickled.

“I had my clan to protect me- and now I have all of you!”

“A task that will increase in complexity as the days progress, I am certain.” She sighed, not matching his cheer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a mess and we all just have to deal with it because I wrote it for seasonal self-therapy. <3
> 
> I also wasn't expecting Lavellan's POV to take up so much of the chapter.
> 
> Solas is being attacked for absolutely no reason the poor guy.


	4. His Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An impromptu, unplanned, very short drabble because an interesting scene popped into my head, involving Dorian's demon and Evallan.

_Fingertips pressed to Evallan's chin, guiding his focus- which he had little of. The world was obscured, tilting and lurching awkwardly, yet he experienced no fear or concern. Wherever he was, it was soothingly warm, accompanied by a voice- soft, entrancing despite Evallan's inability to comprehend specifics._

_Was it another language- or simply made unfathomable to him, somehow?_

_Eyes strained, attempting to identify shapes in the dark- there was a hand at his chin, slipping to brush his cheek. It had to belong to_ someone _\- why couldn't he see?_

_He must have looked amusing or tried to speak- the voice suddenly laughed._

_It was not an unkind sound. Not at all._

_Like bells it chimed, quelling any uncertainty his self-preservation might cling to._

_That unknown grip shifted, clinging to his neck. Brought closer to someone- some_ thing _\- all he felt was searing heat. Heart pounding, he inhaled embers that seemed to pop within his chest, causing his perception to stutter even more._

_Another chuckle- sweet, consoling..._

“ _ **It's quite alright, my dear Herald...You won't melt, I promise...”** Familiar this time- yet he struggled to place it..._

“ _ **Herald...tell me something...”**_

_He blinked, fighting to narrow his eyes upon a vague silhouette, leaning close. A tongue dragged along his jaw and Evallan gasped sharply, swallowing more fire that dizzied his senses._

“ _ **...Tell me your name.”**_

“I...what?” _He managed to grind out words, holding to the figure for support._

“ _ **Your name...”** It repeated, manipulating Evallan's position so their mouths almost touched, breathing into him with each syllable-_

“ _ **Give it to me.”**_

 _His lips moved soundlessly, helplessly, unsure how to explain to this- creature, person,_ thing _\- his name was not information to be simply relinquished._

“ _ **Give it to me.”** The voice rasped, digits embedding into his flesh. **“Everything you hide away. Everything you can't give...let me be the one to take it.”**_

“I-I do not...understand...” _He managed some speech, muffled by delirium._

“ _ **Everything- give me everything!”** It seethed, appearing frustrated but swiftly calming. **“...Everything...I would be...your most** **faithful servant.** **My Herald.”**_

 _What was it even talking about!? What did any of it mean!? Though Evallan perceived no threat, it was certainly perplexing- not to mention the constant assault on his nerves. How was he meant to answer_ any _sort of question in this state?_

“ _ **...Your name,”** Not as considerate towards his position, the creature pressed. **“Tell me your name.”**_

“I-I d...do not...” _Evallan could only stammer but finally, his visitor seemed to register the depth of this inebriation. With a hiss it drew back and Evallan- shamefully- almost whimpered in it's absence. He_ should _be_ relieved _\- the strange, fiery plumes wrecking his consciousness were beginning to relent._

“ _ **Too soon?”** It observed aloud, skirting around him. **“Too much for you...I expected...more resilience...”**_

“I...am sorry...?” _He coughed out, trying to track the thing's movements- then panicked._ “Wait!- you do not have to!-”

_Ignoring his plea, it retreated, darkness and heat spiralling along with it._

“ _ **Soon...soon...soon...**_

_**Soon....you will tell me...”** _

  
\--  
  


Jostling awake in his tent, Evallan burned inside and out. Dismissing his flustered state, he immediately searched-

and spied a dark figure, hunched at the entrance. Eyes shadowed but it was obvious enough what- or _who_ \- it stared at.

Roughly, he made out it's contours- and recognised-

“Dorian...?”

Once more the creature fled, vanishing through the tent flap. Hastening to his feet, unthinking, Evallan chased. Lunis pounced alongside with an excitable bark, equally prepared- though likely with no idea what they pursued.

Yet it was all for nought- the living shadow was gone. After a few minutes of sprinting barefoot on wet grass, Evallan realised how absurdly he was behaving- and forced himself to still.

By then he was at the edge of camp and stood witlessly, Lunis tail-wagging by his side.

“What...was that?” He asked no one in particular- but was unsurprised when an answer came from within.

_Desire._

“Desire?” He echoed Lightbringer- quietly, so as not to wake anyone. “...It is bound to Dorian, I assume?”

There was no second answer- but one wasn't required. Who else would the creature belong to? Why else invade his dream?

For some reason...Evallan felt strangely bereaved. Almost as though he'd disappointed someone- or failed an important test...

_You did not have to leave..._

_...I was not afraid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is just not very good and also very short. It's one of those things I wrote to get an emotion out. I have this story roughly planned but every now and then I'll get a little idea like this and throw it in. I guess it's one of the perks of having an experimental, shorter side-project sort of thing lol. I'm used to writing Blighted Empire which is obsessively structured, I can't play around too much with it like I can with this.


	5. Saving Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian scolds Desire but has no opportunity to speak to the Herald- who's been captured by Venatori under strange circumstances.
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: vague references to physical torture, some dramatic violence. This story will veer off somewhat into trauma bonding tbh.

“What were you _thinking!_ -” Dorian punctuated his statement by kicking the rarely-used cooking pot. It soared through the murk of their cave and barely missed his shadow- ducking with a hiss.

“You- under-handed!- Witless!-” He struggled for words, fists clenching and unclenching. _“Vile!_ _Stupid!”_

Lacking more projectiles, Dorian couldn't restrain his hands from tossing fire. Granted, none of the flares could _harm_ the demon- their bond nullified any damage either might attempt. Still, it gratified him somewhat to observe the instinctive floundering.

“I _told_ you to _leave it to me!”_ He berated without reserve, merciless even as his living silhouette coiled, openly sulking against the rugged stone.

“Were you trying to scare him off?! Because that's all you'll do- _or did you forget?!_ Did we not already have _this exact discussion?!”_

Not responding directly, it instead deflated into itself with a pitiful wheeze. Yet Dorian understood- he had after all, been privy to the basics of it's exchange with Lavellan- though lacking much detail. He thusly responded, still incensed;

“ _Well, what were you expecting?! He wasn't even prepared!_ \- You didn't give me time to warn him! You're lucky you didn't scare him to death- _no, more than that!_ You're lucky he didn't send his people to _raze the bloody hillside!”_

His shadow echoed this dismay- though more pathetically. Tossing it's head back with an inhuman but somehow childish wail. Desire communicated it's own distress and feelings of rejection like a kicked feline.

“ _STOP THAT! STOP YOWLING!”_ Dorian ordered, feet-stamping in his impatience. _“I-once-again-must-ask-you- WHAT WERE YOU EXPECTING?!”_

Finally choosing to answer, Desire waved it's arms in a show of upset defeat.

“ _ **Name!- His name!”**_

“ _WHAT ABOUT HIS BLOODY NAME?!”_

Hunching in surrender- as if realising, to some extent, how foolish it's thinking was- Desire grumbled.

“ _ **If his name is ours....then he is ours...”**_

“ _WHAT?!”_ His confusion and outrage intensified. “Are you _stupid?! THAT'S NOT HOW THAT WORKS!”_

It shooed him off with a growl, arms folding impetuously

“ _ **....He is Dalish-**_ **'Eldest Lavellan'** ** _...It works that way.”_**

“ _Stop it!”_ Kicking pebbles, Dorian continued to scold. _“Stop_ looking into his mind! _Stop_ thinking you know what you're doing!- Just _STOP!”_

His shadow shrank into the corner, glowering but unable to think of an argument. Lavellan after all, hadn't given the creature his name- whatever notions it had of promptly _'claiming'_ the elf had been dashed. That being the case...

...It was visibly quite depressed.

“Oh, Maker, don't be like that...” The mage awkwardly consoled. “You're just... _we're_ just...a bit _much,_ don't you see? You should know this by now! It's just....how it is, alright? Nothing to sulk about...”

Yet the being would sulk and Dorian would find himself punctured by it's anguish. Irritated by this more than anything, he paced, muttering...

“ _For the love of Andraste_...don't grieve over one bloody man like this- it's _really_ not becoming...”

Desire peeked at him but clearly dismissed this advice, remaining in it's forlorn huddle. Seeing no choice but to switch tactics, he sat alongside the creature, sighing empathetically.

“...Maybe it's not so bad!” He offered, attempting to convince himself while speaking. “He hasn't sent anyone after us, or anything...I'll speak to him, alright? I'll apologise for your _awfully uncouth_ behaviour, and explain that you are quite harmless. You've just gained something of a, uh... _fascination_...”

His shadow pouted at him, wordless.

“...If we hadn't already invested so much time...I'd say abandoning this _'fascination'_ would benefit you more than pursuing it...”

The creature's eyes narrowed in obvious displeasure.

“Well...that's sort of my point,” Dorian said with a laugh, gesturing at it's pinched face. “Since _when_ are _you_ so picky?”

Snarling, it slumped with more exaggeration, not dignifying this statement with a response.

“Fine, fine...” Dorian stood, rolling his eyes. “...Let's scent out Lunis' trail then, no? Hopefully our Herald can spare us a moment between rounding up lyrium-smugglers, and trying to end a bloody war...”

Energised by this plan, Desire hopped up, teeth gleaming cheerfully through the dark shroud that always lingered.

  
\--  
  


They were nearing Redcliffe when Dorian abruptly lost track of the minion's presence.

This was concerning for many reasons. Mainly it concerned him because he knew very well who had settled at the castle.

Alexius and his Venatori. People who likely considered Dorian a traitor or lost to the wilderness- depending on what information had been acquired in regard to his movements.

As he approached the gated courtyard, aiming to meet Alexius somewhere inside, he became doubly unnerved. If Lunis had been struck down, he should feel nothing of the beast. Yet the impression hadn't simply vanished- it had _scattered_. His senses judged Lunis to be everywhere, yet nowhere definable.

By then he had a theory- but only speaking with Alexius would give true insight.

No one stopped Dorian as he sauntered through the castle, though cultists who recognised him shot doubtful glances. Since they weren't attacking on sight, he assumed they knew little of what exactly had occupied the renegade.

He met Alexius in the throne room; relaxed upon its ornate chair, snickering with one of his inferiors.

“...It will be rather interesting to see _when_ the poor fool will reappear, in any case.”

Catching the tail-end of this conversation, Dorian strode forth, beaming as if nothing were amiss. While approaching he noted a dark, sooty stain upon the floor, briefly disturbing his internal map. Now his being was convinced Lunis' energy was somehow caught in the damn tiles.

Very quickly, Dorian pieced the scene together.

“If you were inviting the Inquisition for a party, you should have sent for me!” He bantered, acting oblivious towards Alexius' calculating stare.

“Were you not instructed to observe the Rifts?” The older mage knit his brow. “Yet my people have heard nothing of you- now here you are...without any of the instruments you departed with.”

None of this caused Dorian's smile to falter. If anything it widened, shrugging simply as he stated-

“I lost it.”

“You...lost it? You _'lost'_ a _whole bag_ of equipment?” Alexius' features hardened but Dorian merely laughed.

“I don't know if you've noticed...but the Ferelden countryside is somewhat of a mess between the Inquisition, demons, Templars, rebel mages...and _us_ , of course.”

“...Of course...” Though he didn't relent completely- eyes squinting. “...And I suppose in all this mayhem, you managed to find some... _distraction_...completely unrelated to the task you were to be compensated for?”

The implication and disgust was palpable- and not totally incorrect. Dorian at least considered himself fortunate that Alexius seemed ignorant to _who_ had _'distracted'_ the maleficar.

“You know me too well!” He chuckled heartily, displaying no shame.

Scoffing at this, Alexius grumbled;

“We won't be paying you for a job you failed to accomplish, I hope you realise...”

“I thought as much, yes.” Yet he would stand there, smiling foolishly and expectantly until Alexius growled and began once more to lecture;

“We can still make use of you...but your incompetence thus far, Dorian, has been noted. Rest assured that if matters here hadn't concluded to our satisfaction...I would not be suffering your presence in this moment.”

“How kind of you, Alexius!” Dorian chimed with mirth, needling lightly into the topic. “And how did things here conclude to _'our satisfaction'_? From the looks of it, all you've done is burn a hole through the poor Arl's floor...”

He'd hoped the arrogance of the man would lure him into relinquishing details- and was glad to see himself correct.

“That fool _'Herald'..._ ” Alexius guffawed, gesturing to the charred tiles. “...as you'd expect from a fraud, he has not the tiniest grasp of the forces he meddles with. I flung him out of time- along with that... _repulsive_ mutt of his...”

Dorian's mouth twitched- he willed it to remain smiling.

However, Alexius' gaze narrowed.

“...Quite strange, really. The creature resembled one of yours.”

“One of _mine?”_ He cackled as sincerely as possible- a trained mannerism. “Oh yes, I'm sure the Southern Chantry would _love_ to have one of _my_ abominable little minions running around! Surely the Herald of Andraste, with his Dalish heritage, would _adore_ such a gift from a Tevinter blood mage!”

That appeared to quell Alexius' assumptions for now- he leant back into his usurped throne, scowling.

“Point taken...but your ongoing absence is unacceptable, regardless. For the time being, I expect you to remain in Redcliffe- until we think of how you can be of _actual_ use.”

“But of course!” Dorian accepted with a melodramatic bow. “I only live to serve, Magister Alexius!”

Unimpressed by this show, Alexius dismissed him with a noise of disgust.

“Out of my sight now...I would like to _savour_ this victory, _without_ your foolish remarks...”

Back turned on Alexius and his Venatori, Dorian's ever-present smile morphed into a sneer.

  
\--  
  


He wouldn't act until nightfall.

With the Herald's supposed removal, the Venatori were lulled into a sense of security- a false one, if Dorian would have anything to say about it. Alexius' research into magical time shifts wasn't news to him- but he'd have to act immediately for any hope of success.

Who even knew what Lavellan was being pit up against- weeks or months into an undoubtedly chaotic future?

The first step would be to retrieve Alexius' amulet- with that, he'd be capable of triangulating Lunis' exact place _and_ time. That accomplished, all he'd have to do is locate the Herald and bring him home.

For any other mage, swiping the amulet in itself would be a complication. For Dorian, it was as simple as recruiting a little friend. Lounging in the courtyard beneath glaring twin moons, he waited for the wily rat to return.

It soon did so, squeaking and scrabbling- as it was a _literal_ rat. Albeit one with an adorable, miniscule skull for a head. Loping from one sill to the other, soon it was clambering down rough brick, plopping onto Dorian's shoulder with an accompanying jangle.

“Took you long enough!” He jested, unburdening the rodent of its spoils. “Perfectly done, though! I doubt anyone even noticed.”

Emitting many a pleased squeal, his furry friend pounced into his hood, rolling comfortably.

“Well...you can go back to sleep, _or_ you can stay here, it's really up to...” There was no reason to finish- predictably, his minion wished to slumber until its services were called upon. It would become something of a fossil once the wisp floated into the Fade- a strange ornament that most wouldn't think twice about. Not the _only_ grim trinket one might find on his person, either.

Initial steps fulfilled, Dorian fled from the village, knowing he would never be welcomed back.

  
\--  
  


Tracking Lunis' precise time-space took longer than Dorian would have liked.

A week- perhaps two? It was difficult to count the days between the spreading of Rifts, constant clashes between Venatori and Inquisition, and of course the Venatori's pursuit of himself.

Much of it involved working within the Fade, utilising the amulet as a beacon. Outside of the Fade, he roamed and hunted, following whatever signs- mundane or otherwise- that led to the _place_ part of where he meant to travel.

The _time_ part was more tricky- but Dorian was sure he'd pinned it down- the _exact_ location, in the _exact_ time-shift.

For reasons he couldn't hazard, Lavellan and Lunis had been taken to the other side of the Hinterlands, where there was an old fort. Currently held by Inquisition- that must not be so in whatever future the Herald occupied.

Dorian situated himself outside the fort, far enough to be unnoticed but close enough to reach in a short sprint. Once he jumped through, after all, he could waste no...well, time.

Fiddling with the amulet, he ensured none of his calculations were off, breathing deep, muffling stress...

Travelling through time was not a usual experience for him...

Truthfully, if the Herald wasn't so clearly integral to the success of the Inquisition, he wouldn't be fool enough to attempt such a thing. It was all a bit _much_ just to save and impress some bloody man!

However by some ridiculous twist of fate...Dorian was the singular person able to retrieve the Inquisition's Herald. He supposed then, it was fortunate for both he and all of Thedas, that he just so happened to rather _like_ the damn fool...

While Dorian pondered and probed the amulet he was aware of his shadow- watching him, intent...

“...Alright, listen...” Exhaling, he met Desire's gaze. “...Where we're headed, this Breach nonsense will be out of control- so just...try to remember...”

Struggling to think of _what_ he wanted the creature to remember, Dorian rubbed his forehead. Deciding on words, he looked his shadow square in the eye and dictated-

“ _Fuck_ the Fade. _Fuck_ it's endless knowledge. _Fuck_ Corypheus. _Fuck the Venatori. Fuck everything that isn't you and me!_ That's how it's always been! You'll remember _that,_ won't you...?”

Blinking at him, apparently baffled by this lack of confidence, Desire answered with a firm nod.

“...Alright...” Inhaling, Dorian stretched the amulet before him. “I'm trusting you, old friend.”

With a muttered incantation, green swirls of fire possessed the object and his attached arm, gathering until they formed a tear in existence itself.

Mustering all the courage available to him, Dorian stepped through.

Into a world of pure, hellish mayhem.

There was no longer a single Breach and various Rifts- the sky was consumed by Breach, the land littered in demons and Rifts. The quaint Ferelden countryside was strewn with months-old carnage, and not a moment seemed to go by without a roar, a scream, a distant explosion.

“ _Andraste's-flaming-tits.”_ He uttered witlessly, briefly unable to do anything but behold the chaos. Alongside him he could feel Desire fluttering, panicked. It didn't like this future anymore than _he_ did- and must have felt vulnerable and exposed, with the Fade and reality mashed together.

“Yes, I know, just-” Before he could finish, Dorian was overwhelmed by an internal sensation of _tearing_ and _burning_. Though he didn't panic- Desire was simply escaping as far from the Breach as possible, into it's bound vessel.

“ _GARGH! FOR THE LOVE OF-”_ He didn't panic but he _would_ complain! “I _hate_ when you do that!”

If someone else were present, they would have noticed the hint of crimson overtake his eyes, pupils becoming snake-like. Hardly a concern right _now_ \- who was around to judge? Besides, Desire's manner of seeing would be of use. Finding Lunis and Lavellan would be effortless with the combination of his bond to the wolf, and his shadow's penchant for identifying auras.

“ _On with it, then!”_ Steeling himself, he progressed towards the fort- no Inquisition banners now, obviously. No banners at all, actually.

Someone _had_ helpfully scrawled over the parapets in blood, but Dorian didn't count that.

There was no alarm at his approach, he raced through the smashed portcullis and into a courtyard without problem. By now, he supposed there wasn't a large force defending the structure, down to whatever skeleton crew was necessary to control Lavellan.

 _...Come to think of it- why are they bothering to keep him_ alive _?_

Not _just_ the Herald but _also_ Lunis...

This epiphany filled Dorian with foreboding but he didn't have to suffer in ignorance for long. Passing a row of wooden holdings- animal-pens, it looked like- a familiar presence called to him, soon accompanied by frantic scrapes, bangs and strange rumbles...

That would be the dog, then.

Rushing to the wobbling door, he wrestled off the latch and was instantly tackled by a ton of muscle and fur, topped off by a wilting flame.

“ _Yes-yes-I'm happy to see you too!”_ He assured the canine, wrangling it off him. “But where's your master- _**where's Lavellan**?!”_

Obediently plopping at his heels, Lunis sat with tail drooped and shoulders low, offering a responsive whine.

“Yes, just hold still..” Dorian guided, kneeling before the minion. “I'll take a look...”

A hand placed on the nape of Lunis' stitched neck, he delved into the creature's memory...

_Separated from Master. Blood. Yelling. Sprinting over corpses._

_Bad people. Smell bad. All have that smell. Death. Despair._

_Master's voice- angry, yelling._

_Running towards it. Want to help Master!_

_Grabbed! Too many hands! Snarling- ANGRY!- Master yelling- “LEAVE HIM ALONE!”_

_Laughter. Unkind. Talking. Death-smells._

_Master is not fighting anymore. He throws his weapon to the ground._

_They take him away._

_I HOWL I YELL I FIGHT._

_BUT THEY TOOK HIM AWAY._

_Throw me in the dark. I howl. No one replies. I howl. No one replies._

_Master is yelling again. It is not angry yelling. Master is in pain._

_I howl. I ram the door. I FIGHT. I AM ANGRY._

_They will not let me out. I cannot get out._

_I CANNOT HELP HIM._

_Yelling stops. Door opens- it is Master!_

_He is happy to see me. I am happy to see him!_

_But he is hurt. Arm stinks of blood and death. I whine. I want to clean it._

_Laughs at me. Calls me a good boy. Tells me not to whine. Hugs me with one arm._

_Calls me a good boy. I try to clean his arm. He laughs at me, hugs me. Laughter turns into crying._

_Hugs me once more. Tells me to be good._

_They take him away again._

_They keep taking him away._

Dorian emerged from the desperate vision with a gasp, sickened and panicked to his core- and just _slightly_ irate...

“...They're using you to keep him subdued?! _That's_ why they didn't just kill you?!- They're trying to remove the mark! And _you're_ the only mechanism of control they have over him...” His mouth twitched, almost wincing. “That...that bloody _sentimental idiot!_ Doesn't he realise you're not _actually_ a dog?! He might have found his way back by now if it weren't for _you!”_

 _If it weren't for_ me.

_If I hadn't given him this stupid gift!_

Before him, Lunis whined, descending to hide against his front paws.

“Shh, it's fine..” Dorian patted fur absently, glancing around. “...Stay here, alright? I don't want anyone noticing me...I'll find him, and then we'll _all_ go home, yes?”

Lunis had just enough cheer and stamina to lightly wave his tail, signalling obedience.

“That's a good boy...I'll be right back- _with_ your master!”

He sealed the pen in an effort to avoid detection, then charged inside. By this point he was thankful for Desire's cowardice. Whilst bound in this fashion, hunting down Lavellan was a simple matter of rifling through energies. Dorian supposed he should be thankful for the demon's lecherous nature. It's recent contact with the Herald caused his aura to shine prominently, even weak and broken from torment.

Somewhere on the lower levels- smaller energies around him. Apparently someone thought it amusing to throw their Dalish prisoner in with the hounds.

Outrage flooded him upon this discovery- especially from Desire. As far as the demon was concerned, Lavellan was already _theirs._ To have something of _'theirs'_ treated with such blatant disrespect- regarded as a _beast_ \- it sent his shadow wild. He could barely keep a lid on the fury.

“Listen...” Dorian ground out, descending stairs. “...You need to keep your head on straight, friend! He's _alive_ \- and we're going to get him out of here. So just...focus on _that.”_

Together they attempted to do just that, while lurking the lower cells in search of Lavellan...

  
\--  
  


They'd tossed him into a cell at the very back. Dorian heard the restful wheeze of a dog-pack before any sound or sight from Lavellan. The cell lock was worthless- easily melted with a fistful of fire.

“Hello...? Herald...?” He inquired very quietly, skulking into the damp cell, disturbing piles of hay. A few canines grunted but didn't seem able to differentiate him from every other loudly dressed Tevinter.

“ _DIE, VENATORI SCUM!”_ Lavellan also seemed unable to differentiate- before Dorian knew what was happening, his back was shoved against a wall, a blunt knife wavering against his throat.

“ _Oh!_ \- you're out of your chains!-” He giggled somewhat nervously _“And_ you found a knife!”

“ _AND I WILL GUT YOU WITH IT!- TEVINTER PIG!”_

Rusted metal pressed against Dorian's jugular, the seriousness of Lavellan's threats striking him all at once-

“ _WAIT-WAIT-WAIT! Look- it's ME!- Dorian Pavus- remember?!”_

Wild eyes fixed upon his, brimming with confusion and hatred. The Herald was exactly in the sort of state you'd expect- clothes ragged, soaked in blood and filth, hair a crazed mane, features exhausted. His right arm was heavily bandaged- he held the knife in his left, as correctly as he could manage.

“ _You are with them!”_ He hissed- but thankfully seemed hesitant. _“You were mentioned by name!”_

“But you haven't actually _seen_ me with any of them- have you?!” Dorian struggled, reaching for every detail he could find. “If they _have_ mentioned me- it's probably as an incompetent fool who never does his job, no?!”

A glimmer of doubt passed over Lavellan's expression- but again his knife-grip firmed.

“ _How do you expect me to believe that?!”_

“I brought you Lunis, didn't I?!” He spluttered- at a loss. _“And he's a good boy, isn't he?!”_

Something in the Herald's face appeared to crumble, eyes watering, mouth wincing.

“Yes- he- he is a good boy...” He admitted in a whimper, still toying with the blade.

“Yes- exactly! He's a good boy! And I gave him to you- to find you- remember?! And look- I found you! _Just as I said I would!”_

“...He...” Gasping slowly, Lavellan stumbled back, repeating as if unsure of his words. “...He is a good boy. That is true...”

All at once he flopped against the wall, leaning there tiredly while a nearby hound sniffed at the noise. Most of them seemed to ignore it- Dorian supposed they'd been privy to a lot of shouting. Either that, or he was so focused on the knife at his throat that he didn't register their howls.

“How did you...even get that?” He questioned, pointing to the blade.

Lavellan fumbled with it, lazily explaining...

“They made me sleep with the hounds. I taught one to fetch.”

“And the...chains?” This time, he pointed to the split shackles bound to his wrists.

“I froze one link. Gradually.” Lifting his arms, he feigned yanking them apart. “Like firewood.”

For a while Dorian regarded him in stunned silence. He'd meant to save the poor fool- but he was already half-way to saving himself. Still, he was in such a state...he couldn't get far on his own, could he?

Even so...he was more than a little impressed by the elf's tenacity.

“All of that...must have taken a while.” He observed with a frown, wondering how long Lavellan had suffered this fate- passage of time between the two worlds was clearly not identical. For all Dorian knew, he could have been here months...

“I did not keep track.” Lavellan said with a lame shrug- before his eyes suddenly sparked. “Guards- they are in mid-change? You saw no one? No one stopped you?”  
  
“What? I...I really couldn't say. I didn't _see_ anyone, but-”

Disinterested in further explanation, the Herald burst from his cell, weapon in hand. He proceeded to storm through the halls, Dorian desperately trying to match his pace. He resisted calling out, not wanting to attract attention to either of them.

_Maker!_

_He's bloody fast for someone who_ so clearly _needs medical attention!_

Lavellan rounded a corner and within milliseconds Dorian heard an absolutely _terrified_ -

“ _OH SHIT!- OH SHIT!- WAIT-WAIT-WAIT-STOP!-PLEASE-”_

Followed by a wet splat- a scream- a gurgle.

Upon reaching the noise, Dorian was faced by more or less what he'd mentally prepared for. The Herald had bowled into some unsuspecting Venatori guard, proceeding to messily tear them asunder with an implement far too worn for such butchery. It was a vicious, ceaseless activity. Dorian noted the wealth of Lavellan's assault was focused on the man's right arm- though he was dead by then.

His death failed to please or be acknowledged by the Herald, who commenced tearing muscle and skin.

Dorian didn't interfere at first. He had an uneasy sense of witnessing something deeply personal- deeply vengeful.

He allowed the man to navigate these emotions however he saw fit- for as long as it felt safe, anyway. He couldn't just...stand around and watch the Herald mutilate corpses all day...

“...My Herald,” He said gently, stepping forward. “...I do believe that man has been rather dead for several minutes...”

Lavellan flung the knife aside, fresh crimson staining the entire length of his body.

“What a pity.” Was all he said.

He then rooted around the man's cloak until retrieving his actual weapon- Dorian recognised the bladeless hilt from previous encounters. However it was merely held at his side, loose and inept.

_...He probably doesn't have the strength to summon the blade right now,_

_let alone use it..._

“Lunis...” A growl from the Herald stirred him from his thoughts. “Take me to Lunis.”

“Of course, but...” Dorian perked a brow, curious. “I have to ask...what _exactly_ was your plan?”

“My _plan?”_ Lavellan wheezed in bitter amusement, seeming pained by the motion. “You saw the extent of my plan.”

Blinking from the Herald to the desecrated corpse, Dorian's brow lifted higher.

“Your plan was just...brutally kill that man in specific...?”

“Yes.”

“...Right, well...”

Unsettled by the whole circumstance, Dorian was eager to leave this damned timeline. He was grateful they encountered only a few Venatori stragglers- nothing that couldn't be solved with an inferno or two. Incapable of a true bout, Lavellan was forced to rely on Dorian's protection- though never complained.

Master and hound were reunited shortly; the undead canine leapt into Lavellan's chest, clutching firmly, Lavellan mumbled and cooed in Dalish, settling the wolf's nerves.

“You _do_ realise that's not _actually_ a dog, yes?” Dorian couldn't help but point out. “It's just a Fade-Wisp...inhabiting a preserved corpse...”

The Herald scowled at this, embracing Lunis tightly.

“It is a Fade-Wisp that believes itself to be a dog, in the body of a dog. In every way that matters, it is a dog.”

He could only blink dumbly at that logic- though Lunis panted in cheerful agreement.

Escaping together, the trio trudged through a dire landscape, returning to the necessary spot for their backwards time-shift.

“Hold onto me,” Dorian advised, gingerly taking Lavellan's wrist. “This might make you feel just a tad sick.”

The elf pressed into his side, patient and silent while another vortex flared to life, swallowing them both.

  
\--  
  


Above them, the sun was shining.

Granted- there was still a Breach- but it hadn't overwhelmed the whole blighted sky!

“ _Maker, finally!”_ Dorian sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. “I _almost_ can't believe we made it back!”

Lavellan only offered a soft grunt, still slouched into his rescuer's frame.

_I really need to bring him to a healer..._

“Come- you see there?” He waved towards the fort. “Inquisition banners!- _Your_ people. Let's get you _home_ , my dear Herald...”

“...Yes, I see...” Detaching, he lurched forward- though managed just a few steps before buckling. Dorian rushed to offer support, insisting on it when Lavellan hesitated.

“Don't be shy now,” He cajoled sweetly. “It's alright to lean on me- I don't know how you've been upright for this long, really...”

Mute, the Herald allowed this without protest- probably lacking conviction to do so.

Lunis scampered ahead, barking in that odd, ethereal fashion that was not really a bark, since he lacked vocal chords. By the time Dorian caught up with Lavellan hanging off him, completely unconscious, a group of soldiers were blinking down from the parapets.

He imagined they were an odd sight- a Tevinter blood mage, holding up their famed and highly-honoured Herald of Andraste, both soaked in blood and the latter appearing mauled by a bear.

“ _LET ME IN!”_ He demanded, angling so they could better sight his burden. _“I brought him back!- I brought back your bloody Herald!”_

Commotion erupted from within, excitement and shock crashing over the populace like a wave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly longer compared to the others. I hope it's still bite-sized enough to quickly get through because I do want to keep this particular fic as episodic and easily-digestible. But there is still a loose plot I'm following and this particular chapter just had a lot of scenes I wanted to include.
> 
> Also, sorry I'm updating my fics so slowly and erratically. My living situation sucks and finding peace to write is turning into a whole thing.


	6. Trust Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian aids Lavellan with his injuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing the notes here to leave on a less negative note~
> 
> I'm going to write on my own for a while like I used to. I'll mostly be focusing on Blighted so I don't know when this fic specifically will update, but when I come back with more Blighted chapters I might have something for here too. I suggest bookmarking or whatever else you can do because it really will be totally random and unannounced.

“ _ **Careful**_ with him-” Dorian grunted, shifting Lavellan's weight to a new pair of arms. “He's _lighter_ than he looks- but his stature is still rather cumbersome.”

Noting his advice, the healers were cautious with their new patient, trying their best not to leave any limbs dragging. Dorian had carried him through the fort and now deposited his lifeless form at whatever passed for a surgeon's station. Hopefully their abilities surpassed the low expectation he had of this Southern, backwater hovel.

Released from his charge, he collapsed in exhaustion, back-against-wall, vaguely overhearing scraps of dialogue from within. Not even a gasp was allowed before his insides wrenched painfully, as if a small inferno struggled for escape.

Dorian jerked forward with a hiss and Desire sprung from it's host, swaying and dizzied.

“ _For-the love-of-!”_ Though he squinted in displeasure, his shadow barely offered a glance before slipping through the door- after Lavellan.

With a groan he slouched into brick, not having the stamina to protest.

Paw-pads echoed softly through the hall- Lunis' dropped into his lap a second later.

“ _Oof!”_ Sighing wearily, he pet the dog. “Yes, yes, that's a good boy...”

For a short time he sat and lamented the whole blasted affair. Not that there was anything to do for it- even if he _could_ convince his Desire to abandon it's attraction, Thedas would be in disarray without its Herald. Then how would Dorian continue his much-favoured lifestyle of roaming, drinking and pleasuring?

Still- he was irritated. Drained of energy and lacking immediate options- Lavellan was in no shape to sustain him in any manner. If he couldn't locate a butcher for some meat or blood or some such, he'd be reduced to hunting vermin in the cellars. Not a favoured meal by any stretch.

“I SAID- _NO!!”_ A familiar voice barked out, brimming with panic- “DO _NOT_ TOUCH ME!- THE _BLOOD MAGE!_ I SAID- _FETCH- THE- BLOOD MAGE!!”_

Jostling practically out of his robes, Dorian and Lunis swerved to face the door in tandem. It flew ajar, revealing a servant who had led them into the property, pale-faced and obviously shaken.

“L-Lord-um?” He struggled to address, a whirl of smashed glass and incoherent Dalish warring behind.

“Pavus.”

“Y-yes, ah, Lord Pavus- the Herald, he- no one can get near him! He's asking for _you_...”

For a second he didn't think he heard right- why would Lavellan ask for _him?_ Just some hours prior the man had been undecided on whether or not to gut him like a _'Tevinter pig'!_

Back on his feet, Dorian sprinted inside, where he was met by a trio of petrified healers, recoiling from the Herald. With radiant blade unleashed he stood in a corner, a cot toppled near him, along with a mess of fractured potions and poultices.

If the healers looked scared- Lavellan looked more-so; in his wide-eyed, snarling terror he'd chosen _'fight'_ over _'flight'_ , the feral warping of his face ensuring to all that he would strike them down without hesitation.

“ _Herald- I'm here!”_ Dorian situated himself between the healers and Lavellan, arms outstretched. “You can put that down! No one's going to touch you!”

Wordlessly, that rabid gaze flit between Dorian and the servants over his shoulder. Following the motion, he understood.

One of the healers looked dreadfully familiar- though last they'd met, his features had been significantly bloodied.

Granted- in the future they'd visited, that man had likely been corrupted in some manner, enslaved by Venatori. Obviously Lavellan couldn't be expected to digest such a nuance, not with his wounds- the physical and mental- so sorely fresh.

Dorian recognised immediately that everyone in that room would have to leave.

“ _ **OUT!”**_ He bellowed, whirling upon them. _“All of you_ _ **OUT!”**_

They hurried to obey, door slamming at their departure.

Lavellan bucked against the thrown cot, swearing in garbled Dalish as his weapon clattered, whatever adrenaline had willed his muscles to grip now absent.

“I'm going to need to take a look at your arm.” Dorian said slowly, not yet approaching. “Will you allow me, my dear Herald?”

He was briefly sized up but soon offered a nod and Dorian was permitted to close the space between them. First he righted the cot, gently guiding Lavellan to relax upon it. All the while he was stiff as tree-bark, despite yielding to hands that steadied him.

“...You know...” He decided to mention, thinking it might help. “Those men in the future- they were enthralled, influenced by the Venatori...”

“I do not care.” Lavellan answered solidly, glowering at the floor.

“...You've never been through any sort of torture before, have you?”

To this no reply was given- which said enough. It occurred to Dorian that as intimidating and firm as the Herald might appear, he'd probably lived an uneventful, idyllic life before coming into his namesake. That _would_ fit in with what little of his upbringing he'd shared previously.

The poor fool was likely terrorised out of his wits. It was miraculous that he could speak in full sentences at all, or could come to such simplistic reasoning as _'Blood Mage saved me, therefore safe'._

A testament to how hardy he was under all that blood and matted hair, Dorian thought. Discarding such admiration for now, he honed in on the Herald's injuries. Asides from his anchor-bearing arm, he seemed only scraped and bruised- if not awfully malnourished.

“Alright, just hold still...” He cooed, unwinding bandages from the mutilated limb. “I'll try to be gentle...”

Muscles flinched but didn't recoil, Lavellan remaining in stony quiet. With the wrappings cast aside Dorian was able to properly inspect the damage; flesh terribly scarred, covered in stitches, marred by old stitches that had been removed, then replaced anew. Incisions on top of incisions on top of incisions, malformed dents and whirls creating a mess that barely resembled a shoulder-blade anymore.

It occurred to Dorian with some dismay and horror that they'd simply begun yanking out muscles and ligaments when nothing else bore fruit. It was no wonder Lavellan could hardly move his arm- it was a wonder he could at all, let alone to threaten healers with a magical blade.

“...You're actually _missing_ pieces of your arm and shoulder, I assume you're aware?”

Lavellan merely issued a grunt.

“...Alright, well, just sit tight.”

Turning away from his patient, Dorian perused what alchemical resources had been unharmed by the minor Dalish rampage. A well-mixed regenerative potion could regrow the vacant flesh overtime, though his arm would never work as well as it used to. With some of Dorian's own abilities to manipulate the process, there would be a better chance at adequate recovery- and a speedier one, which he imagined was important.

He began picking out chemicals and mingling them together, explaining as he did;

“...I'm mixing a potion for you. It should numb most of the pain and _eventually_ mend some damage- but I must inform you, my Herald...the destruction is severe. The best I- or _anyone_ can do...is to prevent you from being crippled _entirely..._ ”

He noted that Lavellan's mouth twitched- the mildest of spasms. Asides from that the elf said nothing and made no eye contact, his expression a wooden mask.

With a tired exhale Dorian sat before him, potion in one hand while the other raised, curling to poise against a ring he always wore.

“Do you trust me?” He inquired meaningfully, eyes pinning to the elf's face until he found it in himself to meet Dorian's gaze.

Mutely, Lavellan nodded.

“Then trust me when I say this is for your own good, and won't benefit me in anyway.” It would, in fact, only add to his weariness, after such a long day with nothing to _'eat'._

The Herald continued to view him in expectant silence.

Tugging at a concealed hinge, Dorian pulled it apart from his ring and swiped the blade along his fingers, red instantly oozing from the slit. An old trick he'd acquired if he ever needed to utilise blood and no one _else's_ was handy. Today, his blood in specific was precisely what he required.

Lavellan did not cease his observation but nor did he react- merely watching.

Dorian proceeded to dribble his life-force into the potion, squeezing until minor injuries clotted. He then swirled the bottle, allowing his vital liquids to assimilate with other ingredients, until the contents were dyed pinkish.

“Drink up, Herald.” He held out the end result and was a little alarmed by how it was simply removed from his hand and sipped, barely afforded a second look.

“You need to drink the whole thing.” He directed.

“It tastes metallic.” Lavellan pointed out, flat.

“Well, yes,” Dorian snorted. “That's because there's blood in it.”

Shrugging with his able shoulder, Lavellan gulped down the rest, wincing slightly at what had to be a peculiar and sharp taste.

“It should stop hurting so much soon- _and_ you might start feeling more relaxed.”

Though his chin bobbed in acknowledgement, still the elf had nothing to add.

“Well...let's have them bring a tub in here, hrm? I'm sure you'd like to attend to your hygiene, after being stuck in a kennel for Maker-knows how long.”

Not waiting for a verbal response- there had been few thus far- he strode off to the exit and was thankful to spot that same servant, idling for any sort of command.

“Have a tub filled and brought here, will you? Just because we're in Ferelden doesn't mean he should go about smelling of dog- and have one filled for me too! Elsewhere, wherever.”

When he turned back towards the room, Lavellan was regarding him strangely.

“...Something the matter?”

“You are leaving?” The elf mumbled, the strangeness of his gaze increasing.

“Well- for a few moments...we _both_ need a bath- and you're already caked in enough dirt for two.”

Lavellan appeared to battle with something internally, shoulders hunching, teeth gnawing a lip.

Eventually, he found his voice- as small as it was.

“I do not trust the people here.”

“I...” Dorian faltered, not predicting this. “Well, they're _your_ people, my Herald...”

“Are they?” He mumbled sourly, withdrawing further into himself.

“...Alright, wait just a moment-” Sticking his head passed the door-frame, Dorian called. _“Lunis!_ Where in the void did you-”

Feet scampered by, the loyal wolf almost shoving him aside in its haste to enter and pounce upon its master, who snorted with a hint of cheer, embracing the overgrown pup to his chest.

“ _There_ you go! See, Lunis will look after you.”

The creature snarled in agreement, wriggling merrily in Lavellan's grasp.

“Very well...” He said into Lunis' fur, very quietly. “...You may go.”

“Why, _thank you so much_ for the permission!” Dorian chuckled, rolling his eyes as he departed to locate wherever his own tub was being prepared.

On his way he felt Desire glaring at him as they walked- and needn't wonder why.

“Yes, yes, I'm being terribly decent- I _know_ you can't stand it.” He huffed, trying to dismiss his shadow. “But he's just so... _pathetic_ right now. It's not especially _attractive_!”

Desire glared harder.

“I know it's attractive to _you_ \- but _that's_ because there's something _wrong_ with you- _more than usual!”_

Waving the demon off, he tried to ignore how several bystanders were oddly spectating what appeared to be signs of madness.

\--

Washing up swiftly, Dorian meandered to the kitchens, searching for _anything_ that might sustain him in the meantime- blood, bits of fresh meat, _anything._ He did manage to come about a few scraps and was then prepared to watch over Lavellan.

He was surprised to catch sounds of laughter on his approach- subdued as they were. Sauntering into the room he found Lavellan sitting in a tub- with the bloody dog, of course! _Southerners and their bloody dogs!_ Dorian was beginning to regret and resent his own gift, watching as a nude Herald covered the beast in suds and cackled as it flailed about, spraying bubbles everywhere.

“...You know, the whole point of the bath was for you to smell _less_ of dog...”

Lavellan blinked at that, Lunis panting contently alongside.

“What is wrong with the smell of dog...?”

“...You're certainly Ferelden, I'll give you that.” Eye-rolling along with his snark, he picked a towel that had been laid out with a fresh set of clothes, waving it to gain the Herald's attention. Obliging him, Lavellan clambered out and stumbled into the fabric, allowing Dorian to fold it around his wet frame.

He couldn't help but notice that even in his tumultuous state, the elf's body-heat sky-rocketed at any brief touch. Leashing himself was a trial- fairly sure that if his hand or mouth _happened_ to slip, Lavellan would be more than receptive to the comfort.

Which was _exactly_ the problem- he couldn't have recovered much of his sense yet. Dorian found he loathed the idea of adding more stimulation to what had to be frazzled, overworked nerves.

They should _at least_ get _one_ nights rest before he started thinking of anything like _that_...

“Here...” He said awkwardly, patting through the towel. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

“I think I can manage.” Cheeks blushed, the elf slipped passed to reach his clothes and Dorian faced the sodden wolf, submerged happily in soapy water.

“...I'm not drying _you,”_ He pouted, still juggling his resentment. “The bath wasn't meant for you anyway!”

With a mournful howl Lunis leapt from the tub, scrambling to brush soaked fur onto Dorian's robes.

“ _What?! Stop that! Bad dog!!”_ He near-wailed, feeling truly assaulted while stumbling around the room, wolf at his heels and Lavellan snickering.

“Now we all smell of dog, so there is no reason to complain.” He quipped, voice muffled by the shirt he was wrestling onto his torso.

“ _Ugh!”_ Completely disagreeable, Dorian stormed for the other end of the room and flopped onto a mattress.

Soon Lavellan climbed onto the one opposite, accompanied by trotting paw-pads. Lunis hopped onto his same cot, curling against the Herald's chest, who appeared soothed by utilising the beast as a large, rumbling pillow.

Dorian again underwent a pang of envy- then annoyance, as he considered how ludicrous it was that he now longed for the placement of a dog.

He imagined Desire echoed the sentiment; his last memory before slumber was of a dark silhouette perched by the Herald's bed, staring intently.


End file.
